


refrigerator jizz

by verity



Series: congratulations [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Artificial Insemination, Established Relationship, Fisting, Kid Fic, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mpreg, Omega Derek Hale, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Omega Verse, Omega/Omega, Pregnancy, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek make a baby. (It's a little like a porno.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	refrigerator jizz

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eriizabeto](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=eriizabeto).



> If you haven't read [the preceding fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/997769), this one probably won't make very much sense.
> 
> Thanks to Ashe, betp, Clio, pinetreekate, and Scout for their encouragement and help; additional thanks to Ashe for her speedy beta and title suggestions, although the blame for this one falls solely on me.
> 
> content notes: everyone is fully consenting at all times, but Stiles finds being in heat emotionally uncomfortable at some points. There are details in the end notes if you think this might be a problem for you.

"So, you're supposed to put the stuff in with the turkey baster, and knot me," Stiles says, waving around the jar of alpha donor semen he just took out of the fridge. He makes a fist with his other hand, just in case he's not being clear enough.

"The stuff," Derek says.

They're in the kitchen of their house in Berkeley, which seems like a reasonable place to have this discussion. Nora is playing in her room upstairs, waiting for Erica to come pick her up for the next few days; their bedroom is full of energy bars and every kind of rapid rehydration drink Derek could find on sale at Costco. The living room is half-demolished, because Scott and Stiles's weekend project restoring the original wood floors got derailed by Stiles's heat coming early.

Stiles starts running his finger through the pattern of their vintage Formica table top, tracing a path between the green boomerangs like he's trying to avoid cracks on the sidewalk. "I like our house."

The house he and Derek bought right after Nora turned one has four bedrooms: one downstairs, which Derek uses as his home office, and three upstairs, theirs and Nora's and the one they're now trying to fill. It's still full of boxes and the broken blinds from the den that they replaced last year. Stiles was going to clean that out this weekend. He was going to clean it out today. He wanted to paint it before Derek knocked him up, before everything starts to smell vivid and weird and visceral, some kind of synesthesia for the tummy. It runs in the omegas in his family, the smell thing.

"Let me take that," Derek says gently, unwrapping Stiles's fingers from the jar he's still holding. The jar full of jizz. That Derek is going to help put inside him. Stiles isn't thinking very clearly right now. "I'm going to put it back in the fridge right now. Do you think you'll be okay if I walk Nora over to Erica's?"

" _No_." Stiles leans forward so he can press his sweaty face against the soft knit of the t-shirt covering Derek's belly. He's sweaty and he feels terrible, like he has the flu, except the flu can only be cured by Derek fucking him a lot, right now. But they have a kid and this is—this is why alphas and omegas always used to live with their beta family members, why Laura got all antsy about Derek moving away from home, Stiles gets it now. "I can't—I need—"

The doorbell rings. Derek yells, "Nora!" but he doesn't go anywhere, he just pulls Stiles a little bit closer, but not so close he falls out of the chair. Derek loves Stiles. He's the best. They're going to go upstairs and Derek is going to put a _baby_ in him.

"Daddy, I can hear you, you don't have to yell!" Nora says, clattering down the stairs in her bare feet with her fluffy Chewbacca backpack thrown over her shoulder. It's stuffed so full that the Barbie on top has most of her sequined mermaid tail sticking out between the zipper pulls, fighting for freedom. 

Erica opens the back door with her key just as Nora is stuffing her feet into her patent leather Mary Janes and says, "Honey, no." Then she looks over at Stiles and Derek, sniffs, and makes a face like the time Stiles tried to make cake from scratch for Derek's birthday. "On second thought, I think you deserve a new pair of pretty princess sneakers for putting up with your dads. Let's get out of here."

"Papa smells funny." Nora wrinkles her nose, her thick Hale brows drawing together in concentration.

"Indeed he does," Erica says, grabbing Nora's hand and dragging her out the door.

Then they're alone, Stiles and Derek, in the kitchen. That happened fast. When Stiles looks at the clock, it's only 9AM, it's still morning. He came down here half an hour ago to make coffee. Probably. Derek was down here, too. Derek smells even better than coffee.

"I think we need to take the edge off," Derek says before he sticks his hand into Stiles's boxers and jerks him off with zero finesse. 

—

"How did you do this?" Stiles says when they make it to the stairway. They've had mating sex once, Stiles draped over the ottoman in the living room on part of the floor that's still safely if horrifyingly covered with shag carpet. Derek dragged a plastic tarp over everything before he fucked Stiles there, refrigerator jizz dripping down Stiles's thighs and over Derek's arm like an gooey opera glove. Stiles has weird thoughts when he's in heat.

"You have weird thoughts all the time," Derek says, pulling off. "Also, I—I really wanted Nora, but people go into heat all the time, too. They like it, Stiles. It's normal."

"Put your mouth back on my dick," Stiles says. He covers his face with his hands; he's so embarrassed.

That doesn't keep him from coming again two minutes later.

—

There's an eye in the storm a few hours later when they take a shower and a brief nap. Derek managed to heroically hold off orgasm until they got upstairs and into bed, still fresh and clean from the shower, so Stiles is already sticky again and Derek is fast asleep, snoring against Stiles's breastbone. Derek's heavy, and his cheek against Stiles's chest is smooth; he shaved when he woke up this morning, but he'll be stubbly again by the time dinner time rolls around. Should roll around. 

Stiles was 17 the last time he had an unsuppressed heat, spent it all in a delirious haze, locked in his room, Dad leaving food by the door. Melissa had given him a dildo two years before along with the painfully awkward Heat Talk that was slightly more detailed than what he got in school. Stiles left it under the bed in the box right up into the moment he had to pull it out, scissors slipping on the plastic zip ties holding it into the case. Who would use zip ties on a dildo? Why would someone do this to him? The dildo was flesh-colored, firm silicone all through the shaft with a softer knot on the base. He kept it until he dropped out of med school and bought something daringly larger, hot pink and veined. One time Violet dragged it out from under his bed and when he found the two of them, it was sitting at the table with Mr. Bear and baby Vernon, the guest of honor at her afternoon tea party.

Nora has not yet discovered any of her parents' sex toys, but it's only a matter of time.

When Stiles wakes up again, he's itchy, skin so sensitive that the weave of the Egyptian cotton sheets beneath him is unbearable where it grates against his skin. He can't tell if he's hot or cold, and Derek's gone; there's water running in the bathroom. Stiles croaks, fingers scrabbling against the sheets; it feels like forever before Derek comes back, puts his cool hand on Stiles's brow. "I'm sorry," he says. "I guess you—you slept through the beginning of it. Let me—"

Derek fucks Stiles with the dildo instead of his fist this time, slicking it up with lube before he slides the shaft inside with one long push. Stiles whines and sobs, shoves himself back on the dildo, does half the work fucking himself: he hates it, the way his body takes over, desperate to receive, ceaselessly responsive. Derek could be anyone, the knot in Stiles's ass as impersonal as the dildo, the way his body _wants_ and _yields_ has nothing to do with the way Derek can coax an orgasm out of him with two fingers inside and a fist wrapped around his dick in the ten minutes in the morning before their alarm goes off and sends Nora bolting out of bed with it. Blessedly, it doesn't take Stiles long to come; Derek presses the flat of his thumb up against the soft stretch of skin between Stiles's ass and balls as he thrusts the knot home, and that's it, Stiles is done, clenching tight around it, when he wants to be clenching tight around Derek, for his body to want Derek more than it wants this.

"Hey," Derek says while they're cuddling, spooned together, waiting for Stiles's body to settle down before one of them pulls the dildo out of Stiles's ass. "You're—upset. You don't—"

"You did this three times." Stiles twists, tilting his head back to look at Derek's face. It's weird, thinking about how things will change if this works, if Stiles gets pregnant; he's used to being the big spoon. "I don't know how you—it's awful."

Derek tightens the arm he's thrown over Stiles's chest. "Do you—" He trips over the words. "Do you wish I was an alpha? Is that—"

Stiles sighs. "No," he says. "Of course not. But my body doesn't care. I just want to want _you_."

"Oh," Derek says, tugging Stiles tighter still. His voice softens. "I'm sorry it's—I get it."

The sun has dipped beneath the horizon outside, so only light in their bedroom is the one they keep for Nora, a gentle glow behind its fish-shaped blue glass shade. Stiles closes his eyes and concentrates on the warm reassurance of Derek's arms around him, the temporarily quieted buzzing beneath his skin. "Can we just have mating sex? We could drag the beer fridge out of the basement and keep the stuff in there, so you don't have to run downstairs. I just—I really want to get knocked up. And then never do this again."

"Sure," Derek says, nosing behind Stiles's ear. "I love you."

Stiles leans into him. "I know."

—

They have sex in the bed, in the shower, in the kitchen (Stiles was _hungry_ , he wanted real food, he thought—), and in the bed again. Stiles's heat breaks on the third day and they sleep through the rest of it on dirty sheets. They're going to have to wash everything twice; at least they have a mattress protector.

"Am I knocked up yet?" Stiles says when Derek finally wakes up. "Can you tell?"

"I'm a werewolf, I'm not psychic," Derek says. "No."

It's 11PM, so they order in Chinese and eat in their boxers on the couch downstairs, the plastic tarp they threw over it yesterday pushed to the side. Derek picks all of the broccoli out of Stiles's moo goo gai pan and Stiles steals half of the red sauce from Derek's sweet-and-sour chicken to slosh over his rice: business as usual.

—

Two weeks later, Nora's playing Jedi knights with her friend Quince, running up and down the stairs with giant foam pool noodles. "Aren't you worried about them?" Scott says to Stiles, looking up from the different swatches of wood stain they're testing out.

"Nora won't let Quince get hurt," Stiles says, squinting at the swatches. All of the brown tones look the same. "And Quince can defend herself."

Quince runs in, bares a mouthful of fang, and hits Scott over the head with her pool noodle.

"Knights use their words!" Nora shouts from the doorway. 

Stiles rolls his eyes and sits back on his heels. "I think it's time to put the lightsabers away and have a snack. What do you think? Quince, do you have anything to say to Scott?"

"I'm sorry, Nora's daddy's friend," Quince says mulishly, tiny claws pinpricking her pool noodle. She's a cute hapa werewolf with a bowl cut, the lone alpha girl in Nora's preschool class this year. The two of them got over a fight over the last metallic copper crayon on the first day that somehow led to best friendship. "Next time I'll ask before hitting you with my lightsaber."

"Thanks?" Scott says.

Stiles lets Nora help with lunch, so it takes him twenty minutes to make and distribute sandwiches to everyone. Nora wants swiss cheese and mayo on white bread, Quince wants bologna and ketchup between two slices of cheddar, Scott wants turkey and swiss on whole wheat with the works, and Stiles just throws some stuff between the ends of the whole wheat loaf for himself and calls it a day. Derek went out to run errands when Scott came over, so he's going to have to fend for himself.

Scott leans against the counter while Stiles passes around the sandwiches, waits for Stiles to circle back to the grownup zone by the sink before saying anything. "You're going to be—"

Stiles's eyes go wide. "No," he says through a mouthful of cream cheese and red onion. "NO."

"What?" Scott says.

"I don't know anything, you don't know anything, you with your freaky True Alpha senses," Stiles hisses. "Let Derek figure it out. He'll—"

Scott glances over to the table like he's worried about the girls overhearing, which, if only Stiles's life was so easy.

"Celery sticks are food," Stiles says loudly, resisting the urge to put his hands on his hips. "They go in your mouth, not in anyone's eyeballs."

"Papa, you're mean," Nora whines.

Quince swallows a mouthful of bologna and sticks her tongue out at Nora.

—

Stiles manages to hold out until they've tucked Nora into bed before he corners Derek and says, "Smell me." They're in the laundry room, Derek is loading the washer, and Stiles is holding a bottle of fabric softener in one hand that whacks Derek in the hip when Stiles inches closer.

"Oh," Derek says.

The clean laundry gets forgotten in the basket at the end of the hall. Derek muffles his mouth with his fist while Stiles blows him up against the inside of their bedroom door, legs splayed wide so Stiles can fuck Derek open with his fingers, get him wet and ready for Stiles's dick. He comes gratifyingly quickly, and Stiles swallows it all down. "You—" Stiles says. He swipes away a dribble at the corner of his mouth with the back of his thumb. "I just want to touch you. Everywhere. All the time."

"You can," Derek says, spreading his legs, giving Stiles a show of the slick pink pucker between his cheeks. "I want you to."

Stiles runs his hands up Derek's pale, darkly-furred thighs, leans forward to press a kiss to his taut belly, where Nora's passage has left no visible marks. He's gotten used to Derek this way: it's hard sometimes to remember how round and scared Derek was when they first met, in Stiles's office, while Derek plucked at the afghan that's on Nora's bed. Stiles's body is the one changing now, to nurture the baby that's going to grow inside him, to create someone beautiful and wonderful and new.

"Come on," he says to Derek. "Let's go to bed."

—

Little alpha Agnieszka Erica Stilinski-Hale is born on Halloween.

"Vernon's going to be so pissed at me," Erica says at 10PM, looking at the clock. "But I'll let it go this time."

**Author's Note:**

> further content notes: Stiles experiences emotional distress during his heat because his body just wants sexual stimulation/penetration to be satisfied, as opposed to specifically being responsive to Derek. It makes Stiles feel vulnerable and unsettled. Derek and Stiles talk about it and figure out what will make Stiles most comfortable to do until his heat ends.
> 
>  
> 
> I'm [ladyofthelog](http://ladyofthelog.tumblr.com) on tumblr.


End file.
